I slide in across from Benny, trying to look serene.

“Well?” he says.

“So nice to see you, too,” I say nervously. “Oh, me? I’ve been fine—thank you for asking!”

A waitperson sets down a bowl of tomato soup and a plate with half of a sandwich arranged artistically on a bed of greens. “Can I get you anything?” she asks me.

“Ummm, I already ate,” I say. Not that I could eat anything right now—my body is using all its energy to pound my heart like a bongo.

“Carbonated water with a lemon twist,” he commands darkly, avoiding my eyes. “Berry flavored, if you have it.”

I blink. “Wow, yeah, I’d love one,” I say.

The waitress walks off.

“You remembered,” I say.

He takes his napkin off the table and settles it into his lap.

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, considering your famous memory,” I add.

He watches me strangely. “It’s a beverage.”

I pick up a napkin and twist it, and then I fold it with maniacal perfection. “Well, anyway, I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m here. As I said, I have just learned some very shocking news.” I hold up a finger, feeling a smile break out on my face, because this really is so outrageous. “I do believe that there’s one thing that you did not take a very good photograph of in your famous photographic memory.” I go into my purse and slap a piece of paper down on the table between us. “And that thing would be our freaking marriage certificate.” I widen my eyes. Maybe we can be allies. Allies fighting together against the craziness that is our Vegas marriage.

He gazes at the piece of paper for a long time, but he doesn’t pull it to himself to read up close. He doesn’t even seem curious.

“We are married!” I say. “Officially!”

I can’t read his expression, but he doesn’t seem pleased. I’m sure he’s thinking about that night where I ruined our fragile new friendship by trying to ravish him.

I stay grinning like it’s no big deal, even though deep down I want the farm-to-table booth bench to swallow me right up.

Five

Benny

Her hair isas glossy as I remember, eyes sparkling. Attitude mischievous.

But she doesn’t remember us getting married? Now that’s surprising.

Not that I spend a lot of time dwelling on the past. Dwelling on the past is for losers. But at least I remember we were married.

When I woke up to find her gone that morning ten years ago, I figured the wedding was some kind of a drunken prank of hers, the ultimate practical joke. She skipped town after that without so much as a second thought, because that’s Francine—people are simply an endless parade of amusements for her beautiful life, and she’s the river, sparkling brightly, flowing through with effortless ease.

She doesn’t even remember.

And now she thinks it’s weird and funny. She’s waiting, staring at me, expecting me to be surprised.

The only surprising thing is that it took her almost ten years to realize she was my wife. Though I shouldn’t be surprised at that, either, being that this is Francine.

“Right?” she says again. “Can youeven?”

“I knew,” I inform her.

Her eyes widen. “Excuse me? Be serious, Benny. We areliterally married.”

“Yes,” I say.